by Terry Cook
One day rolls into the next
No jolt, no transition, it just does.
Left alone am I.
In silence I sit, read, sigh.
I miss my family.
I miss the touch of a friend.
The warm hug that told me ‘we are well’.
The kiss on the cheek,
The humorous glint in their eye, now too distanced to see.
The jokes we told now muffled behind the mask.
Laughter, ahh, laughter that warmed the soul.
Hands clasped, we strolled together each day, now too distanced to be.
That which has happened, not our doing.
But it neither our undoing.
Does God wish us to be malcontents or filled with love?
Do we long for the past or relish the known and unknown of the future?
We still have each other; friendship does not whither under the winds of isolation.
But is patient, full of anticipation of its coming resumption.